


Weight of the Crown

by Phrenotobe



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: "where you'll be - i'll be" and other promises, 1400s catholicism more or less, 1st gen death mention, Don’t copy to another site, F/F, Severa has a stutter and managing it is hard, Trans Female Character, baby fights, i kept naga so the lord is a woman now you're welcome, i'm not a medievalist but i am medievalist-adjacent, kings as incarnations of god, medieval priest/king au, misuse of church latin, the beginning of a deep dive into self-sacrifice and the concept of shame, three chapters of women swordfighting because I know what I'm about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2019-11-13 16:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18035396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe/pseuds/Phrenotobe
Summary: "Vade Retro Grima. Nunquam suade mihi vana," Severa in her vestments murmured, the words passing over Lucina's bowed head, resonating sonorously through the small notch that served to bring light into the private chapel, from the room beneath.Lucina lifted her head, giving Severa a smile."Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas. Insigne sacra sit mihi lux. Draco sit mihi dux - In the hearts of the devout will be found peace," Severa finished, and tipped open her book. She deliberately avoided acknowledging Lucina's charm, burying the tenderness of her gaze by lifting the book above it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cowboy_Sneep_Dip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/gifts).



> New chapters when I can make them.

Severa lifted two fingers, making the sign of Naga over the head of her King. The chapel they were in was private, an alcove above the rest of the chapel, so that Lucina could worship privately, a king above men yet below the might of the divine. A church organ played as quiet as it could in the room below. 

"Vade Retro Grima. Nunquam suade mihi vana," Severa in her vestments murmured, the words passing over Lucina's bowed head, resonating sonorously through the small notch that served to bring light into the private chapel, from the room beneath.  
Lucina lifted her head, giving Severa a smile.  
"Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas. Insigne sacra sit mihi lux. Draco sit mihi dux - In the hearts of the devout will be found peace," Severa finished, and tipped open her book. She deliberately avoided acknowledging Lucina's charm, burying the tenderness of her gaze by lifting the book above it.

"The book of Est, line four. 'And so it is said we walk in the path of dragons, even if they are invisible - and yet there is always one to guide us, in our hour of need'-"  
Lucina shuffled as she knelt, her knees uncomfortable on the stone floor. Severa moved the book aside to fix Lucina with a look.  
"Thus, it is to our favour that we put aside our pride to better serve _Her."_ Severa said, dripping emphasis to try and keep her in line. Lucina gave Severa another cheeky grin. 

"Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo - Rise," Severa said, indicating for Lucina to stand with one hand. The rumble of the rest of the faithful in the chapel getting to their feet was an audible movement. 

The king got to her feet. Her sunday best was polished silver and velvet, a decorative chain shirt to indicate her service to her kingdom under Naga's hand. It'd be no good in a fight, but it gleamed, much as Severa's pale hair did where the light struck it. 

The closing hymn was led by the chaplain below, leaving Lucina waiting. She never sang - she took a seat in the chair by the wall, leaning on the back two feet as she waited for Severa to take her place at the notch of a window for the final word.

From behind, Severa looked a lot like her father. Father Libra had served Lord Chrom faithfully for many years. Lucina considered her, chewing absently on her lip as she did. The voice of Severa from that place only Lucina ever saw was something akin to the voice of God. But her loveliness - that was godly, too. 

It was just a pity that she didn’t give her Lord the time of day. She had eyes only for God.  
With it all over, Severa took the embroidered stole from her neck, hanging it up on a hook.  
“Out, then,” she said, “I will see you for morning prayers tomorrow, Milord.” 

“You command your King?” Lucina said, no respect and all play. She cocked her hip, hand in a pocket under the weight of her mail.  
“Apage, my King, a-pa-ge,” Severa said, waving her hand, her tome heavy in her other palm. Lucina stepped out of the door, holding it open for Severa to pass. 

“That’s a challenge, you know,” Lucina said, “Men have gone to war over it.”  
Severa tucked the book under her arm, and dipped her head to pass beneath Lucina’s chainmail-covered bicep.  
“It’s a good thing I’m not a man, isn’t it,” she said, “Just a woman of the faith. Away with you, Milord. I must write my sermon.”  
Lucina nodded, but didn’t leave. It was her right to.  
“Are you sure you need the whole evening to write?” she asked, “It seems so lonely.”  
“Do you need my service, Milord?” 

Lucina shrugged, glancing up and down the hall.  
“May I confess to you this evening?” she asked, “I can’t - in the halls.”  
Severa dipped her head in a respectful vow.  
“The confession is a covenant of silence, Milord. I will visit your rooms at Compline.” 

Lucina smiled. The evening psalms were a time to meditate. When Severa visited her apartments to lead the reading, Lucina always slept better.  
“I look forward to it. Peace, your Grace. Until eventide, then!”  
Lucina clapped her hand to Severa’s shoulder, taking herself off down the hall toward the library rooms, though it was likely she’d be off down to the training yard yet. No matter how often Severa healed her, she’d always have some kind of bruise or mark on her face or arms.  
But with Plegia so - It was likely she turned her battle preparations to sport. 

Severa took off in the opposite direction, to her apartments. She needed a quiet place to seethe. 

She didn’t know what Lucina wanted - nobody did. But she’d worked hard to pull the new King back together after the death of her father in Plegia. Old knights had returned from the front with new scars, and the clergy with them had been of scanter number than those that left. Who let a healer be in danger? Severa clapped the tome in her hands closed with a more vicious gesture than she really needed. The noise was a louder boom than expected, echoing down the stone, making the halls ring with the sound. 

Her father - Libra had died in Lord Chrom’s arms, run through with the same weapon. A love as costly as gold, and ended in steel. Her mother had cried for weeks, months. Severa was determined to not end up the same way. Duty could turn into love, but love was far too dangerous. No, she’d not let love in.  
She’d pay her liege with the silver of her loyalty, and hope it was enough. She’d not be the Lyon in the light, betraying his beloveds, but she’d not be so foolish to die for them either.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia sucks but here we are.

Severa’s apartments were modest in make, and clean as she liked it. The table was cluttered with gewgaws she'd found in the market, a multitude of shiny things like a magpie would take. It was a habit she's been unable to break when she took her father's position two years ago. The rooms were made for a family size, and so give her more space than perhaps was strictly needed. In truth she rather liked it, despite the indulgence. She had a place to rest and a place to relax separately, as well as another one to work. She may have been faithful, but she wasn’t an ascetic. 

It was two strikes against her spirit, her covetous nature and her needless excess, and her love of luxury made it a third. She thought the perhaps she could stave off some of the guilt by reminding herself to finish the letter that she was writing to her mother.

After the death of her husband, Cordelia had moved out to the country with somebody she called her sister. Severa knew that it wasn't her aunt in the least, but she couldn't criticize. They were living together humbly under Naga, the simple life that Severa had yet to obtain. Much of her day was taken up with earthly matters, with the fro and to of Castle life. With her King. 

She put her elbow upon her desk and her hand to her forehead, trying to erase the growing headache with the pad of her thumb. It didn't work. Her morning schedule has been disrupted with a complaint, and she hadn't managed to find water to drink before it was time for the sermon. 

Between that and the nightmares she'd been having, she was certain that some evil was on her heels, either a curse upon the crown or her own failure. If she couldn’t provide good counsel to her King, what use was she? It was her job to interpret omens, to try to quell her furious nature. But it was just a combination of her parents, the spirit of the humours trying to reassert themselves. Their humours were cold, melancholic. Severa found she had too much gall. It made her head hot. 

It seemed as though she was tangled with thoughts about things that dwelled on earth, the petty moments and matters not worthy of the celestial sphere. She took pride in her station even though she shouldn't. Severa was in two minds if she was doing the job well, or if her quiet but firm satisfaction from her perfect execution of her duties brought her further away from Naga herself. The internal conflict had plagued her ever since she had been frocked, and it had only increased, even as Lucina settled into rule. 

It was unbecoming to put her feelings before her King and her God. And so Severa put her focus down to write her letter, and then dabbed it neatly with a blotter. Putting it aside, she reached for an envelope, marked the address, and folded the letter thrice. Once it was all done, she put her cheek on the desk and groaned. She’d been responsible enough for the day. 

Severa sat up, but the day had worn on her. She napped fitfully in her chair, waking only when a messenger knocked at her door. Taking Naga’s holy name in vain she rose from her seat, handing off her letter and receiving the summons that she was needed in the King’s quarters. 

Had she missed eighth bell? She was so stupid, she might as well rot - and it was a mercy, she supposed, that her own apartments were just a five minute walk away from where the King resided.


	3. Chapter 3

The life of a King held no mystery, no privacy. Lucina was being undressed when Severa entered. Her attendant was working to unclip the pauldron from Lucina’s gorget hooks, with little success. _You dolt,_ Severa thought, _start with the gauntlets and work up._  
She held her tongue. 

“I beg forgiveness-” she started, and dipped to a knee. Lucina’s pauldron finally came off, and she gave Severa a warm smile, sitting down on her bed. The colour of the coverlet was a warm, rich red, and the down looked easy to sink into. Severa didn’t trust it. 

The attendant didn’t stop, and began to work on Lucina’s arm. The tug and pull of the leather strap was a momentary inconvenience, and rattled Lucina in her seat. She continued talking as though nothing was happening.

“You look tired,” Lucina observed.  
_I’m an idiot. A buffoon. She noticed I’m a failure,_ Severa’s heart said.  
“I worry about you, your Grace.” 

“I know your duties are important,” Lucina said, “My father always said his clergy worked too hard. Before he left, he asked that I care for you. For your father’s sake. I worry that I don’t do enough.”  
Lucina leaned back so that her attendant could take off her arming-belt. _More inept fumbling,_ Severa felt herself criticize.

”Do you need to confess, my King?”  
Lucina raised her hand to allow her attendant to remove her glove. The gauntlet came off in a rush, and Lucina flexed her fingers, laying her hand in her lap.  
“You may approach.” 

Severa nodded, and moved forward, kneeling to kiss Lucina’s feet. Lucina was the one that blocked her, putting out a hand to bring her up. Lucina’s hand gripped her shoulder through the comforting layers of her vestments, the motion upwards, a firm tug. 

Severa sighed, following the gesture to stand, taking Lucina’s hand and giving Lucina a quick, guilty kiss upon her knuckles. Respect, and nothing more. Her hand was warm and strong.  
Lucina put her freshly un-armoured fist beneath her own chin, giving Severa a stare.  
“Your Grace,” she said. “I worry about how I’m treating you.” 

“All is well with me, Milord,” Severa lied.  
Lucina nodded, not thinking hard about her tone. Instead she tapped at her attendant’s fingers, to get them to cease their ministrations. 

“Milord,” the attendant said, and nothing else.  
“Leave us,” Lucina instructed. Her servant dipped their head and left, carrying her armour. Once the door closed, Lucina gestured to the seat by her desk.

“You may sit,” she said, “If you wish.”  
Severa remained standing. To sit before Lucina felt wrong. She went to her holster for her tome.  
“Thank you, Milord. I am ready to receive your confession.” 

“Will you stay with me?” Lucina asked. “I'd like to have some company from somebody I trust.”  
“Milord,” Severa said unsteadily.  
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” Lucina said, “You’ve no need to be scared of me.” 

Severa dipped her head reverently, stepping backwards until her hip hit the edge of the desk. She leaned on it, unready to sit but needing the support.  
“Do you not wish to release the weight of your sins, my King?” she asked. Her fingers found the grain of the wood and pressed against the grooves. 

“I wish... that we could talk like we used to. When we were young.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Those days are long past us, my King.”  
It was best to break off such feelings before they could develop. Severa pulled her tome from her holster, flicking it open to look at the page it landed on. 

_Quae te morientem terra susceperit in ea moriar ibique locum accipiam sepulturae-_ it read. Irritably she laid her tome upon the desk. 

Lucina was slowly undoing the snaps of her other gauntlet, putting it down quietly beside her on the bed. 

“Do you really think so?” she asked.  
“It is all as it must be, milord,” Severa said, bowing her head.  
“Will you sit with me?” Lucina asked, “Just a little. You’re tired, and I need help with these buckles. I’m- I should be better at working on it on my own.” 

Severa moved to meet her, dipping again, taking her time to work on the shin guards and sabatons, uncovering the linen and mail squares over the padding. She put her hand on Lucina’s carapace-metal knee, finding the buckle on the inside of her thigh and pushing it open with her fingernail. There’s three of them, running knee to a few inches from the hem of her chain shirt as it pooled folded in the fork of her legs. Severa stared at the metal, blue-acid bathed and treated, and couldn’t look away. What pale parts of it there are reflect back her own eyes. 

Lucina put her hand on Severa’s shoulder. Despite the robes, Severa still flinched.  
“Are you all right?”

“You’ve asked me that way too much today,” Severa replied defensively. There was a notable gap between the end of her sentence and the sound of her respect.  
“...Milord.” 

“Here,” Lucina said and sighed, the sound worn and tired. She patted the bed firmly, bringing up her hand and picking at her clasps to try and get her chestplate off. She struggled, the noise loud and grating, metal on metal. 

Severa rose. Lucina always needed her, somehow. And Severa was always a damn fool for it.  
“No-” Severa said, and bit down on her lip. It’s just the two of them, isn’t it? Like it always was. Growing up together, prince and squire, her swordplay just as fine. Her palms still rough from the blade. Her heart still bruised from the losses. It’s easier to acquiesce. 

Severa takes her seat, and pulls the armor apart slowly. Bit by bit, Lucina reveals, padded and swaddled in yellow linen and down.  
Another layer. The chain shirt lifts, sounding like music as it does, an irregular chime. Finally she’s in her undershirt and hose, bare shins and feet, bicep and forearm and those pointlessly lovely fingers all on show. The armor lays on the chair. Lucina lays down on her bed, relieved. 

Severa closes the shutters over the window-pane. The candle stutters in the breeze.

“I’m ready for my confession,” Lucina says, “On one condition.”  
Severa pettily blows out the candle.  
“Yes, milord. What is it?” 

Lucina didn’t speak in the dark. Instead the bed murmured as she sat up.  
“Do you remember the winters? It’s cold now, too. Keep me warm.”  
“My King-”  
“That’s an order.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Where you die, I will die and there be buried.”_


	5. Chapter 5

Under the covers, it’s enclosed and comforting. Lucina sleeps easily, like nothing affects her, and her hand nests in Severa’s, warm without sweat. As soon as Severa touched the red covers, she was gone, lost in dreams. It’s likely that Lucina put the covers over her. They’re close, so much that Lucina’s breath brushes gently over the back of Severa’s hand. 

The light at the window means they won’t have much longer together, but Severa doesn’t go back to sleep. She gazes at the prince, just appreciating the length of her eyelashes, the soft smile that dimples her cheeks, the peace on her face. Severa stares, openly, like she shouldn’t. Perhaps a king truly is a God, here on earth, and this prince a God waiting to hatch out of the angles of her adolescence, from mortal to immortal. Severa doesn’t look for God - there’s no reason to. She watches Lucina glide through life instead, trying to share pieces of her sanguine joys. The prince lives, and so does the King. Long may it be so. 

She squeezes her hand gently, and Lucina opens her eyes, rubbing the sleep with her free hand. The shape of her brand sits in her closest eye, warping it like a puzzle. 

“Hello,” she says, the warmth of her purr matching the sun.   
“Hey,” Severa says. She feels the flush roll into her cheeks, burning up hot and stupid. 

Lucina’s cool hand reaches out to cradle her face. It’s too tender, defies the way things should be. A squire doesn’t lean close enough to a prince to feel her breath, or dream of kissing her forehead, her cheeks, the magnetic red of her mouth. A squire may not kiss their prince upon their face at all - they are not equals under God. Instead Severa might kiss her hands and try to impress the meaning of it, through the deference made law. 

Severa plucks Lucina’s cradling fingers from her jaw and squeezes Lucina’s hand, wishing it would say it all. 

“We’ve got to get up,” Lucina says, “Your mother doesn’t like when we’re late.”  
Severa mumbles assent, but doesn’t get up to move until Lucina rises, shuffling into her warm spot and wishing she could stay there forever. She could be a mistress, perhaps. Kings have those. And she can lay here, and wait, and listen to Lucina talk about her day. 

“Ugh,” Severa says finally, slapping both cheeks and moving to the basin to wash. 

Lucina is in the dressing-room. Her attendant isn’t there - and though her underclothes are presumably as they should be, there’s a telltale clatter as she fumbles with her armour. 

Bedding together for warmth isn’t the problem. It’s common in the cold, less so in summer. It’s the reliance on Lucina that Severa hates. She wakes for her, spars and fights with her, studies with her and rests by her side. But at the same time, Lucina needs her. Severa walks right into the dressing room without bothering to knock. 

“Oh!” Lucina says, her bright smile on show, “Hello.”  
“Arming belt?” Severa asks.  
“Of course...”  
“That goes on last,” Severa says, moving forward and brushing Lucina’s fingertips aside.   
What would Lucina do without her? She’d survive, obviously.   
Lucina laughs quietly, bracing her hand on Severa’s shoulder as she’s fixed up and made ready. She waits patiently for it all, never frowning. The sunlight shines on her hair like a halo. 

“Let me help you on with yours,” Lucina says, and takes Severa’s hands. She raises them to her mouth, kisses her knuckles left and right as Severa’s heart and face go up in flames.


	6. Chapter 6

“Vade Retotoro-”   
“Vade retro, Grima.”  
Severa scowls and picks at the blister on the side of her thumb. It throbs.   
“Vade retro Grima. Nunquam suade mihi vana. Okay? I was listening!”  
“You’re speaking too fast. Slow down and think, or you’ll fumble.” 

Severa flushes a bitter red. Libra, her father, is several feet away, and gazing out of the window with a copy of the same book in his hand. It is closed.   
“Again...”

Slamming her own book shut, she slaps her hands on the top of the cover and huffs in a deep breath. She recites slowly, elocuted and bitter.  
“Vade Retro Grima. Nunquam suade mihi vana. Sunt _mala_ quae libas. Ipse venena bibas. Insigne _sacra_ sit mihi _lux._ Draco sit mihi _dux._ In _devotorum_ corda-”

“Very good.”  
Libra arrives at her side and puts his hand gently on top of Severa’s golden head. It should make her more angry, but instead his gentle acknowledgement soothes her. Her blush cools; still pink from her excess of humour, but she has done well. She stares down at her hands. Her blister is gross-looking and raw. She focuses instead of the mark of Naga, hanging down on the chain over her father’s ribs. 

“You know the text,” he says in his usual even tone, “To speak Her words takes time and practise.”   
The message was clear to Severa; more effort, more practise. As he moves away, Severa felt her emotions boil over again. She inches her hand upward and feels the sticky pull on the tome cover. Eugh. 

“Ow,” she murmurs.   
The noise attracts her father’s attention. He looks her over, silently asking for her hand as she tried to hide it. Finding the injury, he nods silently and pulls her out of her seat, walking down the empty schoolroom avenue to sit in the alcove where his medicine is kept. He sprinkles brown crystals into a flat little dish, adding water and stirring it until it dissolved. 

“Was it the sword training?” He asks.  
“Yes.”  
“Do you still want to do it?”  
“Yeah.”   
“She isn't hurting you on purpose, is she?”

“No...” Severa says uncomfortably, “She's just really good. Th-th- I...”  
Libra nods.  
“I t-tuh-try tuh-t-uh”  
Severa closes her eyes. Libra pats her palm, preparing to dab the first wad loaded with iodine.  
“This will hurt... I’m sorry. Start again.” 

Severa breathes out. The sting clears her head, somehow. She closes her eyes.   
“She’s good at it,” she said, trying to imitate her father’s flat, steady cadence, “I do my best and it-” she goes quiet a moment. “I...”

Severa doesn’t complain, but it hurts and her tongue is stupid- “And I want her to lose sometimes. It’s boring to lose all the time! And she notices if I don’t try. Sir Frederick said I was an able fighter, and I p-p-ph... I like using axes a lot more.” 

Libra’s face is grave as he listens, letting her talk. In a pause, he speaks.  
“Pre-fer,” he said, “Prefer.”   
_“Prefer.”_

“And,” she starts again, opening her eyes, “Sir Frederick said if I’m serious I should go for a year to the winter puh-palace at Regna Ferox, where the Arena is. I’m talented! I bet I could.”  
Her father begins to unroll the bandage, tucking it around her thumb. It hurts, but it’s bearable. She pours out her heart, the deepest wishes of her soul. How the Chon’sin diplomat has a blade so fast it is hard to see, that she wants to be as good, that she wants to see the lands beyond Ylisse, just for a year. Where the stutter won’t matter. A place where she’ll be able to fall out of love with her Prince.   
“I want to be a knight,” Severa says, firm and steady, “I want to fight for the King.”

Libra nods slowly, saying nothing as he finds a pin to hold the bandage in place.   
“I’ve won a few times.”  
“Severa,” Libra said, “You are my... only daughter.”

Severa’s eyes prickle, knowing she’d be denied, knowing it secretly all along. How foolish it was, to expect the chance when she’d already spent so many hours gritting out _Get back, doom dragon,_ until her throat hurt, the syllables jumbled and the draconic didn’t look like draconic any more. There’d been talk of younger siblings to fill the role, but her mother - couldn’t.

“I serve Lord Chrom, as you serve the Prince. She’ll need you by her side in the future. You can’t just leave her alone.”  
Libra places his palm on Severa’s head, gently tipping it forward. He kisses her scalp as her head is bowed.  
“I know this troubles you.”  
Severa keeps her head bowed, letting herself cry angrily, quietly, silently. Her shaking breath is the only thing that betrays it, but it isn’t ignored. 

“Your King will need you,” Libra says, trying to lift Severa’s chin up. Sulkily, she turns away from his hand to hunch further into herself.  
“Don’t want to work for King Chrom,” Severa finds herself saying, like the child she must be in all of their eyes, “I’m just stupid.”  
“No,” her father says firmly. He doesn’t raise his voice often. Severa bursts into tears. 

Libra draws her in to a stiff hug, one she tries not to uncurl into. She feels the wet on her cheeks soak into his vestments. Her sob is loud, upset and wet with more tears. She’s disappointed her father, too, by wanting all these earthly things. And he’ll tell her mother, and maybe mention it to Lord Chrom-  
“Little luna, I know,” he murmurs, “I know. Lucina is your King.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the final chapter, I'm just trying to get the next one to work. Thank you for reading so far!

Severa awakes with wet on her cheeks. Memories of her father don’t help. Lucina’s bicep is her pillow, and her breath blows a frisson over her nape. Blue hair spills over the covers, entwined with hers, and Lucina’s other hand is loose and curled around her waist, tilting her into the solid warmth of Lucina’s chest. There's birdsong behind the glass of the window, and that means the sun has risen. Severa has done her duty as her King ordered, and now she can leave.

She’s practised how to make her way out of the bed and out from Lucina’s embrace. Edging away from comfort, from something she’d gladly stay furled in forever. Every time she tells herself she won’t, it happens again. 

She edges out with a foot on the icy stone, searching for the edge of the rug. Quiet, holding her breath as Lucina sighs and slowly follows her warmth into the cold spot at the edge of the bed. Severa goes to the table once she’s free, soft-footed without her shoes. As soon as she has her hands on her tome, the bed creaks. 

“Severa?” Lucina says thickly, still hazy with sleep. “Come back to bed.”  
“Milord,” Severa says, red-handed and caught, “I have much to do today. I will see you at the service this morning.”  
Lucina hums, and in the pause there's the plosive noise as her head impacts on the down pillow.  
“Fine, fine,” she says through her yawn, “Come back soon. I miss you.” 

Severa shakes her head, slipping back into her shoes and shutting the door with a slowness to stop the hinge from betraying her passing. It closes with a noise that leaves her still until she determines she’s in the clear.

Out in the hall, her breath clouds the air. The braziers aren’t all lit yet, and there’s a dimness that hangs in the hall. The sun isn’t high enough to shine meaningfully. It’s waiting for the king to rise.

The brazier by her door is lit at least. She thumbs the latch, notices the new letters left out on the table, and ignores them to sit on her bed. It’s cold, the space empty of family. She puts her hands to her face, allowing herself to sag in private, sharp elbows and a curved back and the empty, hacking sobs of loneliness that won’t be fixed. 

Pessulum ostii mei aperui dilecto,  
vocavi, et non respondit mihi.

Letting her tears shake through her, she moved the letters aside and dipped her pen to write her sermon as she’d said she would. Writing was a habit so old she didn’t need to regard the page to do it. Draconic spilled in coils from her quill-tip.

She'd been made a priest fast faster than she should have been for her age and experience, but she'd known the prayers and the hymns since before she could speak them, and as Chrom had trusted Libra, so the princeling had trusted their page. In the absence of fathers, Lucina’s aunt had made the necessary steps to keep her at Lucina’s side, to perpetuate the childish friendship that echoed the loyalty between priest and king. 

They weren’t children any more.  
Lucina was training for war. And soon, or not so soon, she’d marry.  
And just as Severa had been given the honour to lay Chrom’s crown on the new King, she’d place the circlet that matched her on whomever got the best of Lucina after that day. 

Close companionship and courtly favour was one thing, or perhaps two, but it drove Severa to distraction to know that Lucina used her easy charm to beg for attention - when as a King, she could just order it given. It would sting less, knowing that her emotions were so easily led. 

Lucina could die in the desert like King Chrom, or in the arms of her spouse, years ahead. She could live longer than Severa ever did. But she’d never be able to sit as they once did, side by side after training, sharing the same cup of cool water in summer sun, freckles dashed over Lucina’s nose, creeping over the back of Severa’s hands. 

All of these memories, and she’d never told her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I opened the bolt of my door to my beloved,_  
>  I called, and they did not answer.


	8. Chapter 8

Morning service progressed as it should, with no unneeded flirtations, no coy glances. The choir hums their grace in youthful voices and Lucina sits patiently through every stern reminder of Naga’s grace; Naga’s kindness, and Naga’s wrath. Almost like things are as they should be. Lucina brings her head down as Severa raises her hand for the blessing. 

“Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo.”  
“All rise,” Severa calls. The congregation below get to their feet.   
The King does not.

Severa goes to the window to finish the sermon. Something generic, about goodwill and patience toward others - all the rest. She turns to look behind her. Lucina is gazing up, the dark blue of her eyes fixing on Severa’s face.

“Milord?” Severa murmurs.   
“I want to confess,” Lucina says.  
“Of course,” Severa says, closing her book and tucking it away in the holster at her hip. 

She crosses the floor, placing her hand on Lucina’s head. Lucina breathes a sigh, something quiet and forlorn. 

“Forgive me, your grace,” Lucina says.  
“Through Naga, you are forgiven,” Severa says, “Confess your sins.”   
Lucina tips up her head.   
“I do not want to be King.”

Severa’s hand shifts, stroking the length of Lucina’s hair down to the fall on her shoulder. What can be said to that? She touches her book to try and summon a memory. 

“Cor meum dici dolet est Rex,” Severa murmurs. Lucina doesn’t understand draconic, and she never has. She speaks Ylissean in the halls and the tongues of Valm and Regna Ferox at the debate table. Draconic is the voice of God. Severa’s tongue. She can’t stutter in it.

“Your faith has been shaken,” Severa says, “Trust in God, my King. She will lead you down the right path.”  
“Thank you,” Lucina says, “I’m sorry.”   
Severa indicates for Lucina to rise. 

There’s something strange in the air between them. Lucina opens the door and waits for Severa to exit through it. Severa looks up at her, waiting on the threshold between her domain in the chapel and the rest of the castle, where Lucina reigns. 

“Do you need anything?” Severa asks, “We have time before the council meeting.”  
Lucina looks downward.   
“I need time,” she says.   
“You’ve got mine,” Severa says.

Lucina follows her, as Severa goes to her rooms. Severa lets her in, and she sits down on the bed, with Severa on the chair by her desk, half turned away. The King looks strange among the simple things, gilded and shining and full of colour. 

“I like it here,” Lucina says, “It’s simple.”   
“It’s my home, milord.” 

Lucina looks sad at the deference.  
“Then use my name... And I’ll use yours.”

Severa moves her chair to face the bed. Lucina’s head hangs guiltily.  
“As you wish,” Severa says, “Treat this place like your home too.”  
She lifts an arm, gesturing to the apartment. Lucina fiddles with the plates around her knees, giving up and resting her forearms on her thighs as she hangs her head.

“Lucina?” Severa calls.   
“I’m...” Lucina says, “I just want... to lay down. I didn’t sleep well. And I can’t-”  
Severa sits up in her seat. Lucina sounds like she’s about to cry. 

She crosses the room and kneels before her, looking up. Lucina hangs down like her threads are cut, defeated by stress and strain. No wonder she’d been asking confession. She’d just wanted to talk, and Severa was too wrapped up in her own sorrow to notice.  
“M-” Severa starts, “Lucina.”

Lucina lifts her head.   
“Severa,” she whispers, “You’re my oldest friend, so I tell you this in confidence. I’m scared. I think the council will ask me to war. I am of age, and-”

Severa reaches to hold Lucina’s hands.   
“To finish what he started,” she says, continuing the thought.  
“Yes. And then-”  
“I have my seat on the council too,” Severa says, “I’ll be with you the whole time.”   
Lucina lifts her head.   
“You’ll fix it?”  
“I will do all that is in my power,” Severa promises. She lifts Lucina’s hands and kisses the back of them, left hand and right hand. It’s no deference, just as much as she’s allowed to do for the woman she treasures most in all the world.   
“Don’t worry about your shoes,” Severa says, “Just lay down here. I’ll wake you up before we need to attend the meeting.” 

Severa helps Lucina up and fluffs the pillows before she rests her head. Lucina sighs, closing her eyes as Severa puts her hands on her head, a blessing from a priest to a king even while they’re trying to be themselves.   
“Sleep well, Lucina,” Severa murmurs, a tender ache in her heart when she sees her finally at rest, “You’re safe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _My heart grieves for a King._


	9. Chapter 9

Peace is with Lucina as she rests. Severa thinks about letting her sleep further, but they can’t be late to meet the council. Severa wakes her, as gently as she can, surprised when Lucina takes her arm and holds her hand as she rises.

“Are we-”  
“Still on time,” Severa says, “Let me fix your hair.” 

Lucina is still and quiet under the brush. Severa loves Lucina’s hair. It’s thick and long, warm in summer. A crowning glory to add to her other glories, natural in her beauty. Severa takes her time on it, snipping the split ends, stroking errant waves back into place. Caring for her King means knowing her better than she knows herself. 

“Thank you,” Lucina murmurs. The sleepy thickness of her voice is smoothed away, but the couple of hours she’s stolen to rest has calmed her down, soothed by Severa’s tending. She leans back into the touch like a cat.   
“My pleasure,” Severa says, putting the brush aside. 

Lucina takes Severa's hand as they walk the hall down to the room where the council sits. She's tall and handsome with new purpose, and Severa is eased by her presence. It’s nice to know she’s needed, even if it’s under bad circumstances. Fighting her nature never worked for long. Lucina's hands are uncovered, and her palm is warm and steadying. Side by side, it almost feels like they match. 

Severa peels out of Lucina’s grip when they reach the door. She reached to lift the latch and open it, standing back so that the King can enter in all her earthly glories. The murmur of the conversation inside halts and hushes when the King comes in, and the chairs scrape the floor as the council stand for her. In the silence, Severa turns around and shuts the door. 

They’re the youngest on the council. The war with Plegia wiped out many sons and daughters, snipped out King Chrom and his knights, and most of their children are too young to fit in their shoes, or else not qualified in lordship. Like Lucina and Severa both, the members of the King’s council that are the most unaffected are the old lords. They sent their youth away, disposable in exchange for the wisdom of age they keep. 

“Ladies and Lords, I ask you rest at ease,” Lucina says, moving to her seat. The noise of the council eases back in as she sits. Severa takes the seat at the King’s right hand. Her nerves simmer from nerves and expectation.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the final chapter, but I need to take some time to attend to other things. Feel free to hit me up at phrenotobe.tumblr.com if you want to talk about this fic (or if it's been a while and you'd prefer me to come back to it.)

The council are by and large old; and easily dominated by the elders of the King’s father’s generation, most retired and not caught up in a household’s run. It’s a man’s playground, really. 

The old judge is silver now, not golden-haired. She regards Lucina with sharp eyes, beruffled and besmocked and ready for judgement. Not her son, today - his youth would have made him weak at the table, a diverse voice among the rest. Severa notices his absence, and it frustrates her. There should be more of their age on the council, making the decisions that affect the young people of Ylisse. 

Sir Claive rests in his seat to Severa’s other side, and on his right is sir Ricken, a veteran, one of the few of Chrom’s shepherds to come back from the front. He was younger than the King when he left, and magical burns coil pale pink up his forearms. His wife is by his side, sitting for the Featherfoils, busy and still raising their granddaughter on their own. 

Severa checks the notes in her tome, matching them across the table. Major lords: The Claives, the Stahls, Randalls and the Paynes. Featherfoils on permanent leave while they attend to other matters. They might as well give up their seat. Minor houses, with no right of veto or tie break vote - the Kellams, old estate-holders turned to farmers. Tattons, the elevated merchants now new money. Maynard from the guild of bakers, Mercers for the textile makers, and the harbourmaster Baileys. She looks up. A bespectacled woman smiles charmingly at her. 

“Are we in hand?” the note-taker asks. A small noble, from up north near the border to Regena Ferox. She’s mousy and quiet, a Kellam daughter no better than an administrator, and difficult to notice when her neighbour is wide and bearded. Sir Tatton is heavy-set and jolly compared to Ricken’s gaunt body, the diminutive shape of the Judge, the soft hands and eyes of Lord Claive and his wife. Unofficially he’s taken to leading the proceedings. 

Lucina reaches toward her priest, halting before she can catch her hand and hold it. Her fingers brush the spine of her tome, laying flat against it for strength. She gives Severa a meaningful glance, and Severa nods in return. 

“Let us begin,” Lucina announces. 

There’s a shuffle and snap as all bring up their notebooks and quills, modern pens with chamber ink. Maribelle passes a spare square of blotting paper across the table. 

“Very well,” Sir Ricken says. He draws his own notes toward himself, glancing down the list as his wife glances over his shoulder, “I’m here to talk about the farming subsidies.” 

Sir Claive guffaws. He’s got the grit of time in the salt-and-pepper of his beard, and the full-headedness of one not usually challenged by his peers.  
“Farms, Sir Ricken, at a time like this!” he says.  
“Order, Sir Claive,” Judge Maribelle rebukes him. Sir Claive sits down in his seat, relaxing against the back. 

Lucina curls her hand to a fist, and drops it beneath the table.  
“What is your concern, Lord Claive?” the King asks. Her voice is deliberately low, matching his arrogance with her authority. Severa seeks Lucina’s closed fist with her hand to hold it. 

Sir Claive looks gratified to be given a chance he doesn’t deserve. He barely looks at his notes, but his wife draws his book across to note the star next to his first aggress. 

"Our first order of business is the threat of Plegia at our borders.”  
“I veto,” Severa says quickly.  
“My dear, we haven’t yet taken it to vote,” Sir Claive says.  
“Or to debate,” Ricken’s wife says.  
“Quite right,” Judge Maribelle says. 

The King squeezes Severa’s hand. Her fingertips slide out of her grip like a whisper as she grips the edge of the table, trying to hold herself back from standing up.  
“Let it be known that I do not go to war lightly,” the King says, levelly. 

It is noted down in duplicate, Severa’s pen scratching on her tome and writ in the flourish of the note-taker. Lucina does not want war, but her words may yet be twisted so. Severa seeks her hand to hold it, but her fist is on the table, pressing down. 

“Unavoidable conflict, milord,” Lord Payne says.  
“They raid our borders, my King,” a Tatton adds.  
“Your Grace,” Guildmaster Maynard says, focusing instead on Severa, “Burned crops make no bread.” 

“My father went to war for peace,” Lucina says, cutting across the discussion.  
Maribelle glances across the table. Sir Ricken puts his hands down, spreading his fingers as well as he can.  
“He went to war to protect us,” Sir Ricken says, “That’s what he needed to do. He couldn’t do anything else.” 

Lucina leans back, putting her head against the seat back. Severa once again takes the hand of her King. Nothing worked as she wanted it to. It’s all her fault. Lucina gives her hand a squeeze. They’re leaning on the platitudes of a dead King, urging Lucina forward.  
“War for peace,” the King says wearily, “Next.” 

“The second order is your marriage, milord.”  
Lucina bristles, once again upright in her seat. The change is noted by the rest of the table; the Kellam family mouse taking notes drops her pen. Only Maribelle is level. Doubtless she’s heard unsettling things in the courts. This barely would register. 

“Yes, yes,” Claive says, “A marriage! Just the thing.”  
“A boon for the country.”  
“Oh yes, and for the crown.”  
“It’s been on the books for years, waiting for the right time.” 

Lucina finally slams her fist into the table. Her strength makes it rattle. The line of the Exalts always carried such power in them.  
“You wish me to marry? And on the eve of war, no less?”

“Yours is the divine blood, my King.”  
A silence descends over the table.


	11. Chapter 11

Dawn of the beginning of the end, and new scents cloud the air. The mornings seem warmer, so long ago. Severa wakes before her parents, takes the tome off the desk to sit in the sun, and stutters through her psalms. The words make sense in her head, but they judder when they leave her mouth. Cordelia says she’ll grow out of it, in time. 

The courtyard is full. Severa drops the book next to her in her rush to stand on the seat and lean to look at the caravans as they come in. Covered wagons cluster edge to edge, and a red-haired knight in foreign armor picks up her child and hops off the seat. The book falls on the floor, forgotten in favour of a wooden blade, as she slides off the seat and dashes down the hall. She’s got sword practise soon, her favourite part of the day. 

The castle thrums in happy chaos, as people rush to get things polished and cleaned and the new tapestries hung. The kitchen has new recipes, the corridors have new carpets, and the King wanders the upper halls, relaxed with his priest at his elbow. Their guard is sir Frederick, newly promoted to Lord Chrom’s protection. He folds his hands behind his back, neat, like his father before him. His family have always served. 

"-Wanted to adopt a ward, but it's difficult when both of her parents are still very much- Ah," Chrom says to his companions, as something speedy in long pigtails careens down the corridor, splats onto the ground and picks herself up again. She scrambles upwards, and moves forward at speed. The King beams down at Severa, and calls her to halt before her childish rush bumps her into him. Severa drops her wooden sword with a clatter as she startles, and dips to pick it up again. She opens her mouth to talk and thinks better of it, putting her thumb in her mouth. 

"Good morning, Severa!" The king says. He pats her head like a fond uncle, and then picks through his pockets for a treat, “On your way to practise?” 

"Good day, your highness," Severa says, in a very small voice, removing her thumb with a pop. She isn’t sure what is happening around the castle, but it’s noisy, and she's been turfed out of three hiding-places so far by people who wanted to dust or clean there. She isn’t allowed out into the courtyard either. It is very frustrating. 

"Milord?" The young knight asks.  
"We'll continue this later, Frederick, thank you. I’ll be in my apartments.”  
“Milord.”

Libra lingers, not ready to break protocol. His eyes are soft when he’s around the king, like the sun is in his eyes but he still needs to look at it. Severa watches them, chewing on the pad of her thumb again. She wants to be big enough to braid her hair like he does.   
“My king-”  
“Your grace,” Chrom says easily, a hand on Libra’s arm, “She’s lovely, isn’t she?”  
“Quite right, my King,” Libra says, dipping his head. He gives Severa a small smile as he put his hand over the top of Chrom’s knuckles.   
Severa knows that her father smiles at Chrom the way her mother does. 

“My king,” Libra says, “You know where I can be found.” 

Severa rolls up and down on her toes, waiting for attention. The King always has to speak first, but she is small and he takes a long time to find what he wants. It feels like forever. Libra bends to kiss her forehead, and asks her to be a good girl. She nods seriously.   
“Promise,” she says. 

"Are you excited for the guests?" Chrom asks.   
"Uh," Severa says, "don't know, milord King."   
Chrom chuckles and hands her a palmful of toffee squares, wrapped in paper. They seem new, perhaps freshly taken from the kitchens, like one of the pair that Lucina gave her the day before. Kings can’t steal. Not like princes can.   
"Share with Lucina too, okay? She's waiting for you in the south courtyard." 

Severa’s head bounces agreement, her brows furrowed in concentration as she fights to keep all the instructions in her head and all the sweets in her hands. It's a tough job, being six.  
"Thank you," she says, "as you command!" 

Chrom nods in return, and tries to keep his mouth level.  
"And what do we call the King? 

"Milord!" Severa peeps, louder than she needs. One hand goes up to mimic her mother's crisp salute. She holds her fingers wrong, still gripping her gift. A sugary treat falls out and bounces off the King's shoe.   
"Dismissed, cadet Tiamo," Chrom says warmly, "Pick up all items and report to the Prince."


	12. Chapter 12

The king isn’t scary, but Severa still scrambles to grab what she'd dropped. She waves buh-bye to her father, and with the glee and gay abandon that young creatures carry within them, Severa runs most of the way to the inner courtyard where the sparring fences are, only slowing down when she is out of breath. 

The sunlight lights it all up; armor on the racks, the gleam on the helmets, careful consideration from the knights in their study, books open on their lap as the instructor gestures with sword in hand. Magic doesn’t thrill like a blade does. 

Cordelia is in her armor, and she kneels to dress a familiar figure. Child-sized but still heavy under the weight of her armor, the prince stands with arms out, stiff and propped up against the fence post. Lucina has the dissatisfied grumpy pout of somebody who is already warm on a hot day. She’d look good in it if her face wasn’t red. Severa slows to a stop, putting her short wooden blade among the tall, metal practise blades. As she turns away to greet her prince, her sword slides slowly out of the slot and clatters onto the ground among the cobbles and stone. 

"Arms down," Cordelia says.  
"Lady Tiamo..." Lucina complains, "It's so hot, can't I wait for later?"  
"The king wants you to practice every day," Cordelia reminded her, "You have a duty to uphold."  
" but I know it all already," Lucina complained, “And it’s a nice day-”  
"Nonsense," Cordelia said, "When I was your age-"  
“Hello W-Lucina,” Severa stutters quietly, trying not to call attention to herself.

"Hi Severa!" Lucina yells. She waves furiously and overbalances, only caught by Cordelia’s quick thinking, a clatter of metal gauntlets on the plate. 

“You’re late,” Cordelia says.  
“Only a little bit,” Severa says. She puts her thumb into her mouth, reaching out with her other hand for a special delivery. Her thumb is released, staying close to her mouth for comfort as she talks.  
“I was asked t-to give these to Lucina so we could share. The King saw me. He says hello.”

“Get your armor on,” Cordelia says, “I’ll forgive it this time.”  
“Okay,” Severa says. She hands off the toffees to Lucina, who cups her gauntlet palms to receive them. Severa doesn’t have to worry about sharing with her prince. She always counts them into piles, one each until they’re evenly split. 

Cordelia turns away to talk to another adult. Severa ignores it, going over to where the armor is kept. She’s a big girl, and she can do a lot of it herself. She looks for her favourite mail shirt, but it’s missing. Quite a few bits are. Severa lifts her head to squint at Lucina. Her armor is special, and it’s kept in a different place. Probably not that. 

“Hey,” somebody says.  
Severa startles, dropping the shirt she holds. It runs out of her hands like a river.  
“Wh-who-wah?” she says. 

“You dropped your armour,” the other girl says, “You should take better care of it.”  
She’s the girl from the caravan, done up to spar. She wears it easily, a wooden sword in her belt. Her hair is blonde, pale with darker streaks the colour of sand, straight, cut sharply above her shoulders. 

“That’s my sword,” Severa says, pointing at her hip.  
“Yeah?” the girl challenges her, “Show me.” 

Severa reaches to take it, but the other girl slaps her hand out of the way.  
“H-hey,” Severa says.  
“Take it,” the other girl says.  
Severa reaches again, slowly, squawking as her hand is knocked aside. She grabs the girl’s arm, lunging with her free hand to try and grab it from her belt. What she doesn’t have in skill, she makes up for in verve, and they fall to the ground together in a clatter. 

“I told you it’s m-mine!” Severa shrieks, “It has my name on it! My mommy says I can’t lose it!”  
“I don’t know who you are, so I don’t care!” the other girl counters, pushing Severa’s face away with a hand haphazardly shoving at the space between her cheek and her eye. 

“Kjelle!” an adult calls, breaking it apart.  
Severa rolls over onto the ground as her nemesis is dragged away from her grasping hands and the bitter kick of her feet. The impacts were harmless, but her face stings. She’s got her sword though, and that’s enough. 

“She started it!” Severa shouts, picking herself back up.  
“We were sparring.”  
“Shuh-suh-she took my sword!” Severa peeps, still upset. Her knee is wobbling while she talks, and she doesn’t know why, but she hates it, “And she pushed me!”

Her opponent is smug, and her mouth doesn’t betray her when she talks. It’s infuriating.  
“She doesn’t know how to fight,” she says, “So she pushed me over.” 

“I do!” Severa says, “Mommy, T-t-tuh-tell her! I train every day!”  
“Go stand by sir Frederick,” Cordelia says. It’s a tone that doesn’t invite debate. Severa blubbers miserably over to where he stands, grabbing on to his pants leg. He doesn’t look down, continuing to talk while she cries herself out to quiet.  
Severa wipes her face with her hand. There’s red on it, and her cheek hurts where the tears touch. She stares at it, and wipes it off on her skirt. She wants to fight, now more than ever, and prove her wrong. 

But right now it just hurts, and she doesn’t know how to make it stop.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I aten't dead

Kjelle fought Lucina earlier that day, and now they’ve had a break and some water, they’re back at it again in the practise ring. They’re evenly matched, more or less, and Severa sits out to watch, book in hand. Something about watching them makes her hands sweaty. 

She’s a swordsman too, even though at fifteen, she’s aware that her destiny doesn’t have anything to do with the art. It’s a funny kind of priest that knows how to use a blade. Her father hasn’t had anything to do with his axe in years, though she only hefts it when he isn’t there. His palm print still fits around the groove in the handle. She puts the book down, scratching absently at the scar on the side of her thumb. 

She pulls her sword into her lap. It’s not made of wood any more, and she’s in no danger of having it taken. It’s made of pig metal, a poured cast of impure iron heavier than most swords she’d handle in battle. She’s used to the weight now. 

A metal crash makes her look up. Lucina’s gained the upper hand during her distraction, set to and pinning Kjelle against the boards with her sword. Kjelle is grinning, beading sweat. 

Each favour a different stance. For Kjelle it's a wyvern's guard, sword at an angle to the ground so she can do a rising strike with all the strength she can muster. It's a lot of strength, even though she hasn't finished growing. Lucina puts her sword by her back leg, ready to lift and defend with it. There’s probably some kind of poetry about how they fight, a prince that defends and a knight that proves her strength. A fairytale. Severa’s hands curl, knuckle-tight. 

Kjelle shoves and Lucina controls her stagger as she falls back, lifting her sword again, angled like a boar tusk up at the point by her hip. She catches the strike on the flat of her sword, knocks it aside and charges forward with another strike. Kjelle doesn’t go down, sidestepping as Lucina brings the sword down in a grand sweep. 

Kjelle grabs for Lucina’s knee, pulling it up to drop her on her back and following her down to put a knee on her chest and a blade at her throat. It’s only a few seconds of motion and a short, hard thud. Lucina breathes slowly, carefully around the pressure. 

“Yield, princeling?” Kjelle asks. Lucina puts her hands around Kjelle’s ankle, a grin on her lips.   
“A fair hit,” she says, “Care to try again?”

Kjelle lifts her boot and reaches down for Lucina’s hand to clasp and tug it up. Lucina has straw in her hair, a smudge on her cheek that could be a scratch. Severa picks up the old healing stave by her seat, puts the sword in her belt loop and moves to the side of the ring. 

“Hey,” she says warily, “Do you need me?”   
“Severa,” Lucina says warmly, “I’d enjoy another sparring partner.”  
“You’re tired of losing to this one?” Kjelle says, a thumb pointed at her own chest.

“Not at all,” Lucina says, “A change is as good as a rest.”   
“You just want somebody weak so you can win.” 

Severa quietly fumes, listening to them talk. It’s like she isn’t there. She drops the stave on the ground without caring, flips her sword around so the pommel is up as she ducks under the barrier, and knocks loudly on Kjelle’s armour. Kjelle turns around, surprised. 

“I want to fight you,” Severa says, “Challenge you. Whatever.”  
Kjelle chuckles, stowing her sword and putting her hands on her hips.   
“You can use that?”  
“Y-yeah. Yeah,” Severa says, “Of course I can. You first. Then the prince.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I actually like Kjelle.

Lucina’s eyes are soft with caring when she sees the challenge. She doesn’t laugh at it like Kjelle does, but Severa still feels belittled. She has just as much reason to be there with them, and only her duties as adjudicant and healer made her step out. If they get hurt, it’s her responsibility. If she gets hurt, they have to call for one of her father’s subordinates. It isn’t really fair. But then, nothing ever is. 

"You don't have to do this anymore. I promised to keep you safe." Lucina says.  
"Nonsense," Kjelle returns, “Girl wants to fight. Let her fight.” 

Severa grips the hilt of her sword, edging nervously into the centre of the ring. It feels like it all goes quiet when she does, like the jingling of the horses and the stomp of soldier’s feet stop in their drills. She squares her jaw, waiting for something to break the tension. Lucina ducks under the barrier, picking up the discarded healing stave and holding it in both hands. Her knuckles are pale. She doesn’t know how to use it. 

Kjelle is bigger than Severa remembered, like being up close made her more imposing. She’s the one living the life Severa wanted. Living in Regina Ferox to the north, hunting for food and learning to fight. Every time she visits, she’s never seen Kjelle stutter or cry, not once. 

“You’re going to use that hunk of metal?”  
“You’ve got a better one?” Severa says, warily. 

Kjelle chuckles, going to the corner and fishing a sword out of a barrel from over the barrier. It’s slimmer, about the same length. A sword made to pierce at the tip, nicely worked to make it light in the hand. The handle has a basket hilt to protect Severa's fingers. It’s more protection than for the rest of her, ad-hoc to fight without even stopping to put on a mail shirt. Severa puts her sword down, blade-down, and picks up the other one. 

Severa takes her space, sword up high on the shoulder to drop the blade forward at first movement. Kjelle hangs her arm back, waiting for her to take her step. Severa has less armor, so she’s got less weight. She feints forward, seeing Kjelle’s arm twitch as her sword comes down and stops, level with her chest. Lion’s guard. 

Kjelle brings up her own sword and knocks Severa’s sword, but Severa holds the guard and rolls her blade to catch Kjelle's sword at the base of her own, turning it aside. Kjelle wrestles out of it, stepping back to charge in again as Severa parries the next blow. 

“You’re going to hit me at least once today?” Kjelle says in a pause for breath, her sword held to block her face, her chest from a strike. Severa raises the blade slowly, her jaw set as she circles her, looking for a good place to poke through her defenses. She’s got her head tilted down, teeth bared with excitement and lust for battle. 

Kjelle isn’t new to this. She turns to face her, step by step as they circle each other. She’s the one in the armour. She can outlast a hit. But it’s a warm day, and she’s been fighting for most of it. She drives forward, three quick clashes against Severa’s blade. Severa falls back to the barrier, slaps the wood with her hand like a spring to help her dodge. She turns aside as Kjelle tries to hit a finishing blow, moments away from the dent in the wood as the sword comes down. 

“You’re too slow to hit me!" Severa calls, bringing her sword up again.  
Kjelle moves her sword around to strike, and in the movement Severa twists. She holds her sword at an angle to protect her head as the blade comes down, sliding off the end as Kjelle backs off to come in for another strike. The barrier is how she wins, sticking her opponent in a corner. Severa brings up her sword and dodges around her. 

She slaps a hand on Kjelle’s armour, under the chin at the throat like a dark mage making contact - a valid move, if a little underhand - and Lucina calls to reset. Kjelle’s sword thumps against the side of her ribs, hard enough that she knows she’ll have a bruise. 

“Fair and square,” Kjelle says. She grins, a show of teeth like a threat display. 

Lucina calls a halt, but their swords clash again. Two quick movements, a skid and a dull thud, an exhale of air. Severa figures that at least a bruise on each side is is worth it as the blade of her sword chimes off the side of Kjelle’s armor. Kjelle’s sword crashes into her own ribs less than a moment later, seeing the opening and capitalizing on it with trained instinct. Winded, she staggers backward. Kjelle snickers, kicks out at Severa’s knee, and puts her boot on her chest when she drops.  
“Fair and square,” she repeats, “Don’t let down your guard.”


	15. Chapter 15

Lucina comes up to the fence, vaulting over it and ignoring the barrier gate, and shooing Kjelle away like a disobedient horse to get Severa off the ground. Severa lets her, for the moments she gets in Lucina’s arms, and Kjelle is surly and slow to back off. She folds her arms and leans back against the barrier, as Lucina dips to fuss. 

“Severa, are you okay?” Lucina asks.   
“What...? Yeah, I’m fine.” Severa mumbles. “Just need a little... Pass me the stave, would you?”  
The steel pole under her fingers makes it easier to stand. She firmly presses down on her ribs and traces out the shape of her bruise, forcing herself not to cry out in front of them when the pain makes her eyes water. One of them feels like it might be broken. There’s no weakness in the ring, not in front of Kjelle. Not in front of Lucina. Not when she tried so hard. She tried and she won and she... didn’t win. 

Lucina doesn’t know what to do. She’s not usually the one helping people up when they fall - not because she’s unkind, but because she’s there first, protecting them. She helps Severa lean against the barrier, puts the stave in her hands with hope in her face. Severa doesn’t know how to explain that healing herself isn’t something she knows how to do yet. She rolls her head back against the wood, taking a breath that hurts. Around them, the sounds of the courtyard filter back in. She knows this will be trouble when word filters back, but she can avoid most of it if she doesn’t show her hurt for everybody to see. 

“I’m going to- I’m going to go,” Severa says, using the healing stave to pull herself upwards again, breath escaping in a rush. Not crying out. She can’t. Her sword is still in her other hand, scraping along the ground before she picks up the tip, “I need to s-study. Thanks for the fight.”

She goes to the barrier, pauses, working out how to get over, under or through the fence around the practise arena without hurting herself. She knows from her lessons that it isn’t good to bend when something is broken. Sharp edges can turn an easy blessing into dangerous surgery to make things right. Severa shakes her head. She doesn’t need that mental image right now. 

To her surprise, Kjelle gets up from where she’s leaning and goes to the gate, so unused that the hinges creak and complain like an old goat when it opens.   
“Hey,” Kjelle says, jerking her head to ask Severa to come through it. Severa nervously edges past her, flinching when Kjelle puts out her bent arm to offer it. 

“Lean on it,” she encourages her. Severa puts her hand out, on the sun-warmed metal of Kjelle’s gauntlet, and lets herself rest her weight. She looks up at her, trying to work out why. She just gets a grin in return that she can’t decipher. Severa is helped out of the arena, toward the doors to find a healer. She’s not the praying kind, but she hopes whatever Naga is doing, she’ll help her avoid her father’s notice until her injury is healed. 

“I’ll keep your woman safe, prince,” Kjelle says. Her gauntleted fist chimes a note as it hits the front of her breastplate in a Feroxi salute. Lucina’s mouth twists up, as close to bitterness as Severa has ever seen her, but she takes a hold of the fence she’s leaning on while she watches them, and tips her head to agree silently.   
“I’m sorry,” Severa says.  
“Don’t be,” Lucina replies, “It’s not your fault.”


	16. Chapter 16

Severa takes a moment once inside the castle. She’s suddenly cold, away from the sun. She sucks in a breath sharp, forgetting for the half second before it hurts again. Her nails scrape the inner curve of Kjelle’s armoured forearm, digging into the leather straps that hold plate over the soft human inside.   
“We won’t be much longer,” Kjelle says, and her sand-blonde head turns left and right, looking for the healers, the place to fix what she broke. 

“Take the left corridor here,” Severa says, gently leading Kjelle down the hall. It figures she’d never know where the healers are. She’s run down these paths before, a history of skinned knees and bumped elbows. Kjelle bites at her own lip, letting herself be led. 

Back at the infirmary again, Severa remembers the times she’s spent here, in the brilliant dark. The windows are whitewashed to keep direct sunlight from coming in, leaving the air still and the inside dim. She’s greeted and checked, and somebody else tries to check Kjelle over too, but she waves them off. 

“Sit,” the lead healer on duty says tersely, gesturing to a bed with an adjoining seat. Severa takes that time to lay down, as still as she can as she hears Kjelle’s armor grate against the wooden back of the chair. 

“Hey,” Kjelle says, as the woman in white moves away.   
“I don’t want to talk,” Severa says, terse, “It hurts.”   
Kjelle nods slowly, settling like a prince and undoing the buckles of her gauntlet, easy and habitual the way Lucina never can manage. 

There’s another healer that checks Severa’s temperature with the back of their hand. They’re not too much older than Severa, a journeyman with green hair tied back loosely, falling in handsome curls down the back of their robes. Severa can’t remember their name, but their presence is comforting nonetheless. 

“I had an accident in the training ring,” Severa manages, “I-”  
“She accidentally won a match,” Kjelle jokes. 

“How did it happen?” the healer asks. Their eyebrows pinch together with concern, reaching for a stave.  
“I wasn’t-”  
“It was my fault,” Kjelle says, sitting back down beside Severa. She’s taken her gauntlet off, and offers her bare hand to hold, “I wanted a fight, and she gave me one.”   
Severa carefully takes that hand, palm to hot palm.

“You’ve got to be more careful,” the healer continues, “If your father hears about this-”  
“But the high priest won’t, will he?” Kjelle says, cutting in, “I’ll do better next time.” 

Severa glances sidelong at Kjelle. Up until now she didn’t think Kjelle had anything to lose. Kjelle fiddles with the gauntlet resting in her lap, avoiding the healer, the nurse, and Severa herself. Severa squeezes Kjelle’s hand, waiting until the glow of the stave dims away and the pain in her side eases. 

She slips off the bed, breaking contact with Kjelle’s hand. Kjelle curls her hand up slowly, like a day bloom at eventide. Severa turns her head to look at Kjelle one last time, seeing the one and only time Kjelle has ever been scared in her presence. Kjelle’s purple-brown eyes meet hers, shining wet before she dips her head. 

“I won’t disappoint my father with any future injury, and I’ve already discussed the matter with the relevant parties,” Severa says, using the calm, easy syllables she’s been taught, so she doesn’t stutter. For a victory, it’s a strange one. 

“After all, serving my lord prince requires that I stay healthy.”


	17. Chapter 17

Autumn has crowned the trees in gold and weeping green, and the winds blow down from Regina Ferox to cut through the courtyard, the gaps in the castle windows, through the woolens of servants and custodians with red cheeks. The world dies slowly, in the prince’s seventeenth year. 

Lord Chrom doesn’t smile as much as he used to. He trains every day with Lucina, urgent and strict as he mentors her in the sword forms the royal family pass from generation to generation. They’re not written down. He trains himself and teaches her like he knows something they don’t - every blow taken and dealt, with Severa only able to watch. 

Libra arrives just as Severa gets tired. What magic she’s been able to summon has grown with time just as her mother promised, little by little as she stands by and waits, watches the young prince try to defeat a king who fights like he’s got nothing left to lose.

Libra pulls Severa into his embrace, warming her in the curl of his cloak and long sleeve as the swords clash and Lucina’s breath puffs beats of hot air. Chrom has age and strength on his side, the wiry shape of Lucina’s body still waiting to fill out with the power the bloodline holds. Match for match, there’s no clear winner. Just a duel that pauses every three charges to realign the swords and lecture for a new technique. 

“Draw on your spirit, not your flesh,” Libra says, and wipes the blood from the corner of Severa’s mouth. She’s not focused enough, nervous when she heals them both up to keep going. Draining her heath to use magic, something they teach not to in the first few weeks of schooling, but a habit she leans on to give help to others when there’s nothing left. His fingertips place to her forehead, the sign of Naga in his other hand as he blesses her hurts. 

Chrom leans back against the wooden railing, stopping for breath, seeing his priest attend. He extends a hand to Lucina, pulling her in close to him, the corner of his elbow around her waist. She tries to steady her breathing, too hot and uncomfortable, but yearning for the closeness her father offers.   
“You did well today,” he says.   
Lucina rests her head on his shoulder, letting her sword drop to the floor. Chrom turns his head, regards his priest attending his own daughter.   
“Libra,” he says, the sound full of feeling. 

Libra doesn’t attend to Chrom right away. He lifts his hand to put it on Severa’s head, stroking the gold of her hair, checking her over for hurts. It’s love Severa can feel when he attends to her first. Libra unpins his cloak, folding it to change the size, and finally pins it over Severa’s shoulders. 

“Just a moment, my King,” Libra says.   
Lucina wriggles out of King Chrom’s grasp when she hears Libra talk, too tired to go over the fence and too full of nervous energy to sit. She lingers, wanting to stay near to the king, too shy to ask for more tenderness. She picks up the sword and holds it, looking up to see her father smile. She edges closer, in a moment of bravery. 

“My Prince,” Libra says, “Let me see you.”   
Torn between two points, Lucina’s face falls, but she comes to Libra to be seen. 

Libra takes his time. It’s a measure of how well Severa has done her job, as well as watching over the health of the future king. He takes her hands and checks her knuckles, up the shape of her arm for bruises. Lucina doesn’t flinch.   
“I’m not hurt,” Lucina says. 

“Indeed. You look well, my prince,” Libra says. He places a hand on Lucina’s shoulder, respectful but fond. “I’ve come with a message. Lady Lissa requests an audience with you, if you would allow it.” 

Lucina glances at Severa, at her own father, and then bows her head.  
“I shall. It would be an honour.”


End file.
